Day 100

​

“Good morning, Anika.” Tuo’s monotone voice echoes through my cerebrum chip, pulling me out of my dull, dreamless slumber. “I hope you slept well.”

​

I don't bother answering.

​

At first, I thought it was comforting that they built Tuo into the Peace Pods—in endless days of isolation, it’s nice to have something to talk to, even if that something is an emotionless, robotic assistant. During the first thirty days, I spent hours chatting with Tuo, delighted by the upgrades she’d been given to transfer her from our tablets into the Pods. It was fascinating that she could make jokes and listen to your secrets, answering with words of encouragement and comfort. Although she is the most advanced AI in existence, she is still only an AI, and inevitably, I started noticing the holes in our conversations: the repeated phrases, the slightest whir of processing sounds, the monotone voice. She, like all of the Peace Pod, is a game. And it is one I have tired of playing. 

​

A quick coolness washes over my head as my nutrition drip whirs out its equivalent of breakfast. My forehead scrunches. I will never get used to not eating. My thoughts often wander to the sweet sizzle of butter on a skillet or the scent of fresh basil. Although the nutrition drip ensures I am not hungry, it does not make me satisfied, does not quell that intense animalistic instinct that roars through my body, crying out that it needs to crunch and mash and swallow. 

​

I attempt to force that instinct down as I sit up, pushing my blanket to the side, and look at the whiteboard beside my bed, the one littered with tallies. With a slow, shaking hand I add an extra mark, making it go from ninety-nine to a hundred. Actually marking it pulses the weight of my reality through me. I, and the rest of humanity, aside from a few important generals, scientists, and government officials, have been in these godforsaken metal prisons for a hundred days. 

​

My breath quickens, and I tap my fingers to my thumb in a cyclical motion, 1 2 3 4, 1 2 3 4. I stare at the ceiling, longing for the creamy curl of clouds. The vitamin D lamp glares back at me—there is only bright, white nothingness. 

​

“Tuo, turn on the news,” I say, slipping on my VR glasses.

​

It’s already started. News anchor Matthew Arnold sits as poised as he can against the virtual background of a newsroom. Throughout this whole endeavor, he has maintained his TV persona, reporting on our horrific reality in that eerily measured voice. Today is no different as he falls into that same deliberate rhythm: “Thanks, Angela. According to our technicians’ monitoring the chips, 250 million people remain alive and well in the Pods. The U.S. government continues to work diligently to produce advanced aircraft to hold against Europe in the nuclear attacks. However, Europe continues to fire on us. Scientists have not made any significant progress toward combating radiation poisoning other than remaining in your pods. Additionally, it, unfortunately, seems the protective work suits have been causing complications to the government workers, so the President would just like to emphasize the importance of remaining calm. He wants to reiterate that we must stay in—” 

​

I rip the glasses off, trying to push down the panic clawing up my throat. I turn to the small mirror beside my desk and methodically brush my hair. 1, 2, 3, 4. 1, 2, 3, 4. 

​

I know the person who blinks back through my reflection is me—she has the same frizzy, dirty blonde hair cascading to her midriff, the same chocolate brown eyes that look just like my mother’s, but her thin lips are pursed together. My smile lines are fading and I am floating far, far away from the person who created them. 

​

“Incoming video call from Jason,” Tuo chirps, interrupting my trance. She even dictates the emojis I’ve added to his contact name, “heart emoji, star emoji, eye roll emoji.”

 

This is something I once found hilarious. Back in the early days, the single digits. Now it is a repeated annoyance.

​

“Good morning, babe.” Jason’s grin erupts onto the walls as I accept the call. “How’s it going?”

​

He knows how it’s going, nothing has changed. Instead of feeling the flash of frustration that jolts through me when my parents ask the same thing, a ghost of a smile graces my face as I take in his presence (or virtual presence at least). Before we entered the Pods, Jason shaved his afro, joking that he wouldn’t have anyone to look good for in there anyway. Though I loved running my fingers through his long hair, he is still unmistakably handsome without it. The cut shows off his strong jawline and the dark oval birthmark right before his hairline. I futilely place my hand on the cool screen, itching to touch his face, to kiss his birthmark. 

​

I force myself to snap out of it and reply, “I’m alright. How’ve you been?” 

​

“Same old. You know what I was craving today? Scrambled eggs. Scrambled eggs with a little bit of cheese. Cheddar cheese. And pepper! But not too much salt.” 

​

“What are you talking about? You hate eggs!” I attempt a laugh. It comes out strained and weak. 

​

“What can I say? Isolation changes you.” 

​

“Yeah, clearly. You just think you’d want some because you haven’t had real food in god knows how long. This shit is clearly messing with our brains.” The joy puffs out of me as my teasing edges a little too far into reality. A chill shocks my spine.

​

Jason freezes, his smile wavering as the silence hangs over us. I can see the cogs turning in his head as he works out the best way to approach my sadness. He chooses to keep up with what has been his favorite comfort method throughout this situation—distraction.

​

“Oh, I forgot to tell you! I was actually just emailing Professor Alden. He might offer me a TA position when all this is over.” A wicked smirk shines on his face as he teases, “Since I’m so good at helping utterly hopeless students.” 

​

The name triggers a sweet, sacred memory. Professor Alden teaches Comp Sci 100, where Jason and I met. Though I’ve always been set on social work, my father begged me to take a Comp Sci class freshman year. 

​

“It can’t hurt,” he said. “Technology is the future of our country! Think of how successful you’d be! How well you could support your family!” 

​

I took it, wanting to appease him. I knew it wasn’t gonna be my thing but if I didn’t give it an honest try I’d never hear the end of it. Every conversation on Thanksgiving or Christmas would be overrun by his irritatingly well-natured comments, “You never know! You might love it.” Or, “You’re such a smart girl, why not make life a little easier for yourself?” I justified taking it by telling myself it’d be a great way to meet people outside of my major. As always, I was excited to scope out the social scene, never one to back down from a conversation. 

​

The first day, I got there ten minutes early and sat near the middle, putting myself right in the action and chatting with everyone around me. Throughout the conversation, I kept honing in on one guy. He sat directly in front of me and didn’t pipe in as much as the others, but not because he was disengaged; I could tell by his soft chuckle after I made a particularly good joke. That laughter seemed to surprise even himself, based on the slight furrow that appeared on his brow after it slipped out. He was obviously embarrassed to be the center of attention, even for a split second, but couldn’t help it because of his genuine amusement. A thrill of satisfaction raced through me. I was determined to chase that thrill.

​

Then the class started, and I was lost in a language of numbers and words that I could barely register, let alone spell well enough to write in my notes. The hour went by in a blur and my eyes kept wandering to the boy in front of me—he was nodding along with the Professor, clearly comprehending everything, as though it were natural, as though it was something he’d known his whole life.

 

By the end, I shoved back panicked tears—I was in trouble. I’d accepted that I was never going to ace Comp Sci, but I didn’t want to fail and ruin my GPA either. So, I made my move and tapped the boy on the shoulder as he packed up his things.

​

“I’m Anika. I don’t know if you noticed but I have absolutely no clue what I’m doing. Would you want a study buddy?”

​

The rest was history. 

​

The memory brings a deep, bittersweet longing to my chest. That version of me feels so far away, so carefree, so confident, so privileged. I didn’t even realize what I had. That girl was me, but I can’t comprehend how to get back to her. Maybe, if the government had placed us in the pod with other people I would be different. Maybe I would still be that bubbly girl. But, when the world goes to shit, political leaders can’t afford to waste resources on stopping petty squabbles or risk a fluke malfunction taking out a whole family unit rather than just one unlucky person. Or at least that’s how the stuffy government officials have explained it in press conferences time and time again.

​

“Anika?” Jason blinks and I snap back to reality. I must have zoned out for longer than I thought.

​

“Sorry, Jason, I didn't sleep well last night. That’s so great! You’ll be an amazing TA! You should totally take it! As long as those utterly hopeless students aren’t as unnervingly gorgeous and incredibly charming as me.”

​

“Incoming video call from Mom.”

​

A groan slips through my lips. “Sorry, I’ve got to go! You know how Mary gets when I don’t answer her calls. I’ll talk to you later though! Love you!” 

​

“Love you too.”

 

​

Day 131

​

“You need to wake up.” Jason’s voice echoes through my ears. “But don’t forget. This isn’t real.”

​

I bolt upright in my bed, ignoring Tuo’s morning greeting. My hair sticks to the back of my neck from the sweat. Come on Anika, get a grip, I scold myself. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. The exercise does not extinguish the dread roiling in my stomach. 

​

My dream swirls around my mind in bits and pieces but the main thread of it stays stagnant, flashing in front of my face.

Jason was there, clutching my hand, eyes pleading. “It’s me, Anika, really me. I’ve hacked into your cerebrum chip. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long. They've added some pretty intense locks on these things, but you have to listen to me. You have to believe me. The people you’re talking to in the Pod, the video calls, the texts, all of it—they aren’t real. See?”

​

The world shifted, showing a version of Jason in the distance. He was wearing the outfit I’d seen him wear just yesterday but surrounding him was a dark static. As he went to speak the static flew into him and he began to dissolve into code until he was nothing but numbers in the background. I felt a squeeze around my hand and I was brought back to the Jason in front of me, the real one.

​

“That’s not really me,” he said. “It’s all some twisted game to keep us calm, so we don’t do anything risky. We need to do something. Just know I’m here. I’m working on it. I’ll see you soon.” 

​

Then I woke up. Which should be a relief. It was just a dream.

​

 Right? 

​

The dread answers back, slithering up through my throat.

​

It lingers in me all day and as I go through my routine on autopilot. Every move, every word, every breath Jason makes on our daily call is analyzed and reanalyzed. Would he really be taking this so well? Why hasn’t he mentioned his favorite show in a couple of days? Did he use to sit like that when we were in class? And he has been repeating little phrases lately too, condescending ones like “it’s going to be alright.” He’s usually much more insightful than that. Isn’t he? Doubt gnaws at my mind. 

​

The questions only arise on the group call with my family, pounding angrily through my skull. Why do my mother’s eyes look lighter than before? Why is my father slumping? He always corrected my posture at the dinner table. Why aren’t they prying in the way they always did before, with loving, protective curiosity that transforms itself into acceptable but undeniable nosiness? 

 

This is wrong. This is all wrong.

​

 

Day 167

​

Jason continues to contact me through dreams, which are, ironically, the only semblance of reality I have left. My days become even blurrier than before. Every moment is spent inspecting the news footage projected into our pods. I scrutinize the government’s protective suits, making sketches and collecting what little materials I have access to. 

​

I still take the video calls—I don’t want anyone getting suspicious. But I no longer feel that slight flutter of happiness as my loved ones come on the screen. It has been replaced with a dull numbness. 

 

Instead of a source of comfort, the calls have become their own sick game. I try to see how many holes I can catch in the simulation. Was my father’s stuttering a nervous tick or was it a cover-up for buffering? Isn’t my mother right-handed? She was brushing her hair with her left. I mentally mark down each mistake. With each tally marked in my head, my heart pounds a little faster against my chest. I try to shove my restlessness aside—as Jason has explained to me this can’t be a rushed job. So, I wait. A panther on the prowl, about to strike its prey.  

 

​

Day 198

​

After weeks of deliberation, I’m finally ready. I’m getting out of here.

 

​

Day 199

​

“Good morning Anika.” I smash my books into the screen. Cracks begin to ripple through the glass. In response, an alarm blares through the Pod as Tuo malfunctions,. “Ani—, Ani—, Ani—” she drones on and on and on. I slip on my makeshift suit, throwing my helmet over my head after I ensure the breathing apparatus is alright. 

​

An official voice booms through the speakers. “Citizen 2,589, your Pod has malfunctioned. You are going to be exposed to the elements. Remain calm, an agent may be able to get to you in time to provide help.” 

​

A small, satisfactory smile shoots across my face as I hit the heavy, metal chair into the cracked screen over and over and over again until the Pod wall breaks, revealing a small opening. After some more destruction and careful maneuvering, I crawl through. 

 

There is a wasteland around me. Brown, dead grass crunches underneath my feet. There are no tweeting birds, no rushing rivers, not even the whir of a car driving by. There are only the distant screams of war, the angry pounding of explosives, and the chopping of a helicopter. I can’t see more than a foot in front of me; the air is overrun with a thick, sickly yellow fog. It closes in on me in seconds. 

​

I am frozen in place. My hands shake uncontrollably. Inhale, exhale, I repeat to myself. Inhale, exhale. It’s alright. I just have to get to Jason. Then it will be okay. It will all be okay. 

 

1, 2, 3, 4. I count each step. 1, 2, 3— 

​

The fog shifts around my suit sleeve, melting off the rubber as it slowly drips onto the ground. My arm begins to tingle as if tiny little bubbles are popping underneath my skin. The bubbles turn into pins and needles shooting through my spine. My helmet becomes a vile vision of that sickly yellow and my eyes tear up. Suddenly, an intense pain jolts through my skull, and it throbs, throbs, throbs as I vomit. There is only pain. Pain, pain, pain, and then darkness.

 

​

Day 200

​

 Jason smiles as he stares into those familiar, bright brown eyes through his Pod screen. He still marvels at how well Anika has handled all this, but it isn’t surprising. Though he is the optimist in the relationship, she was always the leader, always able to shape the world into what she wants it to be, not what it is. If anyone could make things seem normal right now it’s Anika. As she chatters excitedly about the book she just finished, a steady warmth fills his chest, because he knows that she is playing up her reaction, overexaggerating her shock at the final twist and gushing about the male main character, for him. She’s trying to goad him into their typical banter, to distract him, at least for a moment, from reality. And though everything is terrifying right now, though he knows she notices the dark bags that ring his eyes, at least for a moment, she is able to ground him. She is able to make it alright. He is overwhelmed with gratitude, because no matter what happens, even if it is through the flicker of a screen and the camera from her Pod, she is here, she will always be here.